


Crush

by Scripturiens



Category: Digimon Adventure, Digimon Adventure Zero Two | Digimon Adventure 02, Digimon Adventure tri.
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Study, Drama & Romance, F/M, Kenyako, kenmi, mimato, sorato friendship, there's a tag for angst and a happy ending and i'm not sure i can use it, vaguely sexual content, you think i wouldn't write that? you don't know me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-05-29 11:24:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15072155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scripturiens/pseuds/Scripturiens
Summary: It's just a silly crush, something she entertains mostly because she's bored. [Kenmi][AU]





	1. The Morning After

**Disclaimer:**  Digimon does not belong to me.

* * *

[12/01/16]

 **Title:**  Crush  
**Rating:**  M, for implied sexual content  
**Genre:**  Friendship, romance  
**Pairing:**  Ken/Mimi, background Ken/Miyako & Mimi/Yamato  
**Summary:**  It's just a silly crush, something she entertains mostly because she's bored. [AU]

* * *

All these little boys you're chasing, did they break your heart?

 _"Crush",_  Yuna

* * *

His skin is pale like winter mornings and the column of his neck smells like the first snow of the year. His hair, deep like midnight, tickles her cheeks in her sleep. She stirs, mumbling against the nape of his neck and gently untangles her legs from his, shuffling over to the cool side of the bed. Up until now, she hadn't taken the time to observe the room they're in but she's awake and doesn't think it likely she'll fall back asleep. The light filters in through the large windows, white and bright. Mimi rubs at her eyes absently, yawning like a sleepy kitten, in that way she knows makes men's mouth hang open and their loins stir. She needn't do it; he's fast asleep on the opposite end of the bed, one arm under the pillow, the other hanging limply off the edge, but it has become second-nature and she's in the mood.

Goose-down pillows, hypoallergenic, and 1200-thread count Egyptian cotton make up the softer, less impressive aspect of her evening and she settles in her pillows lazily, allowing the sheets their leisure around her naked body. In a few minutes she's back in that place between sleep and awake and it's only when the bed dips that she remembers she needs to get up. She pads across the room towards his modest closet, picking a long kimono robe that he probably has no use for. The silk is cool on her skin and she shivers lightly, padding now to his bathroom and taking her purse on the way.

The first thing she does is wash her face with warm water, then dabs just a hint of vaseline on her eyelashes and brushes her teeth. She finds a thick hairbrush and runs it along her curls, detangling. Only then does she go back to bed, eyes heavy-lidded, lips rosy as she yawns and her robe slides down one shoulder, exposing the creamy flesh of her ample bossom.

The young man turns on his bed, momentarily confused. Was he alone or ...? Then he looks up and the image of her, all tousled hair and exposed collarbones, stirs him back to life. He raises an eyebrow at her choice of wardrobe — a dark, silk thing he wasn't even supposed to have after all these years and for once, is grateful he never got rid of it.

"I hope you don't mind," she says, pouting.

He keeps watching, then shakes his head as he sighs. He reaches for a pair of trunks — he needn't bother but the fact is that he's a little shy now the sun's out and she can definitely see his face.

She walks back to bed just as he leaves, her touch missing him by mere seconds. He doesn't look back at her or answer her soft  _'oh'_ , but walks in fast, long strides and locks himself in the washing room. In the minutes between this and the door creaking open, Mimi almost wishes she could fall asleep.

He emerges fresh faced, (ah, yes, spearmint), and finds her delicately splayed in the middle of his bed. Her hair curls naturally at the tips, something he has heard her friends coo over and her lips are tinted the colour of summer red wine. She has done nothing to hide the nudity that hints from behind his silk robe, not to cover her bare legs or tie the ribbon more securely around her waist. Instead, she rests her head on her palm, her whole weight on her right elbow.

(The neck of the robe inches that much lower and he swallows, hard.)

He doesn't really know what to say now that he's here, in front of her. Should he wave? Get them breakfast? It all seems so surreal and maybe she senses his hesitation in the way he can't really tear her eyes from her but can't really look her in the face either, so she smiles and then lets out a soft, breathy laugh.

"We don't have to..." she begins, more gently than he would have expected  _(then again, why is he surprised? She's always been so gentle),_  sitting up to coyly look at him. "But I'd really like to go back to bed."

The invitation is there, open, a hint of a promise that, like her cleavage, he can't ignore. Doesn't want to ignore. Can't ignore.

Without an answer, she stands, brushes her hair off her shoulder and smiles dazzlingly. He expects a cheeky retort, teasing, but all she does is climb out of bed and move towards the various discarded items of clothing thrown haphazardly around the room. The sight of his bed, now empty of her, is decidedly upsetting.

With her back turned to him  _(why is it so much easier, this way?),_  he approaches her hesitantly, still a little embarrassed to be taking this long but unable to do more than place his hands on her shoulders and lean into her, whispering against her ear:

"Stay."


	2. New Year's Eve

[12/03/16]

* * *

It wasn't real, before this. Miyako always looked at him shyly from behind her spectacles, squealed under her breath when she caught his eye. But it was silly, a  _crush_ , something Mimi entertained mostly because she was bored. It wasn't even like her and Yamato, who constantly denies being interested in Mimi at all but somehow finds himself hung up on her every single time. She doesn't have a name for that either but she knows it's different to  _this_.

There's still something not quite real about the sight of him even now, with one hand tucked into his dark grey slacks while the other holds a flute of clear, sparkling wine. He laughs at something someone says and for the second their eyes meet, Mimi's swears something has just happened. She carefully tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, eyelashes brushing her cheeks, coy. He doesn't fly to her side immediately and it feels like something completely accidental when they do find themselves within the same circle, hours later. She can't tell what he's thinking about or whether he's thinking about her at all and it doesn't matter if he is; the sight of his clear blue eyes is all the confirmation she needs.

"It's a great party, Mimi," Ken says, toasting their hostess.

"You really outdid yourself this time," Takeru quips, grinning brightly.

She called in a few favours and managed to book a beautiful salon with a spectacular view of the city and Rainbow Bridge, complete with a deck. There's food, entertainment and beautiful decorations to keep them company at dinner and Mimi is rather proud of the results. Her shoulder rises and falls like their words haven't touched her, but they don't miss the flush of satisfaction high on her cheeks.

"It was nothing," she says, plucking modesty like any other accessory. "It's New Year's Eve, we can't keep having parties in Taichi's flat."

"What's wrong with my place?" Taichi asks, puffing up indignantly, turning to Yamato almost instantly. "Don't fucking answer that."

Bristling, Yamato raises one cool eyebrow. "I wasn't going to."

Their bickering continues, falling into the category of background noise just like the lively music she and Miyako have chosen for the occasion, and her attention is drawn quickly back to her guests, the food and numerous glasses of champagne for the next two hours.

It's late, and most have retired for the night. Outside the temperature has dropped considerably and it smells like the snow might start any time now. She drinks the rest of her champagne, considers retiring for the night when she hears his clear, tinkling laughter. She starts when a hand touches the small of her back and when she turns, her smile is lighting up her face.

"Leaving already?"

"I have an early flight," he says, nodding. "Will you be okay on your own?"

"Yes,  _dad_ ," she laughs, rolling her eyes. "Thanks for coming."

"It really was a great party, Mimi," Yamato says, making her smile wider. "Go easy on the champagne."

She stops in the middle of taking a fresh flute and raises a disdainful shoulder.

"Don't tell me what to do," she says petulantly, but he recognises her teasing tone. "Besides, Ichijouji-kun is here. You'll keep an eye on me, won't you?" she says as he passes by, caught innocently into their squabble. He flushes brightly under her tight hug.

"I was just getting a refill," he says, confused. "For Daisuke."

"You're on Mimi duty," Yamato tells him blandly, ignoring the look of confusion on his face. "If anything happens, I'm holding you responsible."

"Er ... what?"

"Go," Mimi shooes him, laughing. "Before you keep embarrassing me!"

.

.

The snowflakes look beautiful, twinkling under the fairy lights, making the scene look like something plucked out of a fairy-tale. Mimi's eyes are shining and there is something touching and also painful about it, and she isn't quite sure what she's missing for this moment to be perfect. Most everyone is gone and she is loathe to leave the party, too afraid of the silence back home. Her parents are gone for the holidays and Mimi hasn't been alone in a long, long time.

The last of her guests call loudly at her from the doors, drunkenly exclaiming:  _'Happy New Year, Mimi-san!'_  and she waves back enthusiastically, toasting them one last time. A thin coat of white snow covers the balcony and she knows she ought to leave now, before the storm hits, but half of her wants to be there when it does. The weight of a coat on her thin shoulders makes her jump, surprised.

"I thought you had left," she says, an odd expression taking over. "Before, with Daisuke-kun."

Ken shrugs, offering her a light smile.

"I'm on Mimi duty," he jokes. His laugh is cut short when she presses the softest of kisses on the corner of his lips.

"Happy New Year, Ken-kun."

She thinks that they did leave right away but she must've insisted on a detour and Ken has had little experience handling her; she probably took advantage of how sweet he was and how he didn't know how to say _'no'_  to her yet. It's refreshing, must've been thrilling and she wants to laugh, hiding her smile behind a curtain of fresh curls. They're practically snowed-in for the day and the unfamiliar scenery makes her feel like she is elsewhere, like it was meant to be. She knows everything but love brought her here, but she likes to think that affection is at least partly responsible for it, so she kisses him softly once more.

They spend that morning between the sheets, emerging only for a late brunch. It is mid-afternoon when she slips quietly out of bed, finding her clothes and a non-descript shirt of his before slipping into the bathroom to change. It feels pointless but she realises halfway through she has no interest in waking him up, so she leaves a note on the pillow beside him, written in her neat, curled handwriting.

_I took one of your shirts, hope you don't miss it much._

_Thanks for brunch,_

_M._


	3. Ginza

 

 

 

[12/05/16]

* * *

It doesn't seem necessary to tell anyone about it or even to acknowledge it at all, so they don't. Even after the second time it happens, after Daisuke's birthday, Mimi finds no opening for it to emerge, no break to say,  _'so I think we should talk'_ , so she kisses him again and promptly forgets all about it. They don't really talk much, at first. Not about the small, inconsequential things he's used to talking about with their friends, especially Daisuke. Instead, they whisper to each other in the dark, things that (he likes to think), they haven't told anyone else. Their conversations usually stop when Mimi straddles his waist or when he bites down on the curve of her neck, a question that begs no answer.

One afternoon he happens upon her, walking through the busy streets of Ginza on his way home from work. She is wearing a purple dress and when their eyes meet, he removes one earbud, smiling.

"Mimi-san," he greets her, eyes catching on her pale pink nails, stark against the dark of Yamato's leather jacket. "Yamato-san."

"Ichijouji-kun," she says, in that sing-song voice he really doesn't like while Yamato smiles good-naturedly, "It's good to see you."

Before their greetings turn towards a proper conversation, Mimi tugs on Yamato's arm, giving Ken her brightest smile.

"Let's have lunch this week," she calls out, already walking away. "This loser has some belated shopping to do!"

He runs into them again, quite by accident, a week later. This time Mimi insists he joins them for dinner and so he complies with an apologetic smile that Yamato half-returns. They end up at a nice French bistro, someplace Yamato apparently discovered on his own, much to Mimi's delight. The food is warm and unusual but tastes very good and despite himself, Ken actually ends up having a good time with them.

He finds that while Mimi does exceptionally well with big crowds, Yamato's charm is at its best when he's relaxed with friends. Often polite and quiet much like himself, he can also be funny and delightful in his own way. He wonders for a second if it's the comfort of the small company or if it's something to do exclusively with Mimi and makes a mental note to find that out. For some reason, it suddenly seems very important for him to know.

Late into their dinner and well on their second (her third) glass of wine, Mimi's phone goes off ringing and she groans, casting them an apologetic look as her fingers linger on the screen.

"I'm really sorry, I have to take this," she says, smiling at Yamato. "Order some dessert for me, will you?"

Ken doesn't think much of it until she stands and Yamato's icy blue eyes follow her until she disappears, lingering with something like longing or hope. It seems so obvious, then, and he wonders how's he's missed it when it's been dangling right in front of him all this time.

"Are you and Mimi-san..." he hesitates, unsure how willing he is to cross this boundary. "Was this a date?"

His words are immediately followed by silence. In those three to four seconds, Yamato looks at Ken as though he has never met him and then, after another second, sighs audibly. He shakes his head, bringing his wine to his lips and looking off-put, confused and irritated even. Everything but sheepish, he notes.

"Honestly," he murmurs, annoyed. "Did she put you up for this?"

Ken raises an eyebrow and Yamato smiles tiredly.

"Don't get caught in her games," he tells him. "Mimi can be ... a handful."

The way he says it wipes the smile from Ken's face and he turns back to his plate, no longer hungry.

.

.

Sometimes she'll do things that seem innocuous but really aren't. He'll catch her perched near the window, all exposed shoulders and inviting collarbones. Or, she'll be sitting in the sun, face tilted upwards and lips parted  _just so_. Or, she'll be biting into sweet strawberries, shamelessly licking honey from the corner of her mouth while looking at him.

She always giggles, like it's a game she knows she's winning.

He doesn't think much of it, really. For Ken, it's simple; Mimi is beautiful and he can't think of something more appropriate than enjoying her beauty. It doesn't register in his mind that it's been going too long, doesn't find it strange that their friends don't know. And he is certain they don't, because there is no way they wouldn't give him hell for it if they did. He imagines, to some extent, what this is to her but finds that it never sits entirely right with him when he does so he has gotten very good at ignoring it.

Miyako comes over one afternoon asking for his help on a project. Her hair is tied back on a high ponytail and though she is dressed for comfort and not appeal, Ken is absolutely delighted to see her. They end up working most of the day and by sundown are both exhausted and starving.

"Let's get some lunch!" she exclaims, pumping one fist in the air. "My treat."

Ken agrees without putting up much of a struggle.

There's a nice place a couple of blocks from his building, a café much loved by neighbours and college students. It is on ground level and they sit outside, under bright yellow umbrellas. They order sandwiches, a salad with garlic croutons and some crabapple juice. Miyako eats with gusto and Ken watches her happily, stretching between bites and laughing at her seemingly endless supply of science-related jokes.

"This is nice," she tells him, pushing cherry tomatoes around her plate. "We haven't done this in a while, I kind of missed you."

The way she says it, like she's been waiting for the right moment, is what makes him look back at her for far longer than he'd meant.

"What are you talking about?" he asks, reaching for his glass. "We see each other all the time."

She sits back on her chair, squinting behind her spectacles and shakes her head, though she is still smiling.

"Not since the New Year," she tells him. When there's no answer from him, she adds: "You remember, Mimi's party?"

The glass is cold beneath his fingers and he sets it down, wiping the condensation from his hands. Of course he remembers; that's a bright distinction in his life, a clear before and after the events of that night. He doesn't want to think of it as such because it feels as though he's trying too hard, like it's not something that happens to normal, everyday people and Ken desperately needs it to be normal.

"That can't be right," he murmurs, knowing despite his increasing denial of it that Miyako is probably right. She's got an uncanny memory for that sort of thing. Ken whistles low, trying to keep things light. "I guess it has been a while, then. I'm sorry about that."

"That's okay, we're all busy. But, I was wondering…"

She's still talking but Ken is only half listening. Ever since that party, his time has inadvertently been occupied with Mimi. Some evenings, mostly nights. She hasn't stayed for breakfast since that one time and he hasn't really been to her place, not like  _that_ , anyway. It never really bothered him before and he wonders if it should.

"I mean, if you want, we could perhaps do this again…"

He nods absently, wondering when she began occupying all this space. It's not as if they even make plans, they really just happen upon each other, Mimi just  _happens_  upon him. He's sure she's not someone one can just summon, at any rate.

"So let's go out sometime, yeah?" Miyako looks hopeful, biting down on her bottom lip. Ken blinks, embarrassed when he realises he hasn't said anything in so long.

"Sure."

"Okay! Should I call you or…?"

"You have my number," he jokes and she fumbles, blushing.

Miyako looks very pretty when she blushes, he suddenly notes.


	4. Amethyst

[12/08/16]

* * *

The stones glisten when they catch the sunlight and she likes the way they adorn her ears, so she wears her hair up more often now. She finds they make the simplest of outfits look much more put together and Mimi is currently  _all_  about the effortless glamour.

Ken's apartment is very simple, lined with slender bookcases, traditional ink paintings and not a mirror in sight. She misses her vanity table and the full length mirror in her closet, pouting at the idea of having to walk all the way to the bathroom to really admire the effect of the semi-precious rocks against her pale skin.

"You look beautiful," Ken murmurs against her throat, pressing one soft, warm kiss as he holds her shoulders from behind. It isn't quite a hug, there's nothing truly sweet about it, but Mimi smiles all the same.

"They kind of remind me of you," she admits, closing her eyes just as his flutter open. "Almost violet  _blue_ …"

Having no answer for that, Ken occupies his mouth on her exposed skin, teasing. Mimi is almost purring, melting in his hands and giggles slightly when his teeth graze a particularly ticklish spot.

 _"Stop,"_  she murmurs, opening her large doe-eyes and watching him through their reflection. "You'll leave a mark."

He wants to, suddenly. The thought of her milky-white skin peppered in violent shades of blue and purple, lips parted as he disappears between her legs — it seems delightful and it almost breaks his heart when she asks him to stop. He blinks out of his fantasy, watching her, then nods silently. He steps back and watches her quietly as she gathers herself, tousles her hair and applies some lip gloss. The colour is bright and sparkly and he hates it.

"How do I look?" she asks, hopeful.

Ken smiles that quiet smile of his, blushing. He doesn't know why she needs to ask or why he feels the need to humor her but in the end they always do.

"You look devastating," he says and she beams.

Someday, Mimi knows, her vanity will be the death of her.

.

.

The days stretch into weeks as winter recedes and Mimi finds herself caught, once more, in Ken's arms. She isn't sure why exactly she keeps coming back, only that when she looks up he's usually there and then, he's so beautiful she doesn't have the heart to deny him. Not that he ever asks; Mimi doesn't even give him that option.

He's bought a mirror since the last time she was here, weeks before. Mimi snickers as she asks him about it, taking vile pleasure in the deep flush of his cheeks as he stammers out some half-assed excuse. The clear glass reflects her beaming face, glowing in delight.

"Are you coming to Takeru's, on Saturday?" she asks, snuggling into one of his sweaters. His clothes fit her a little loosely but somehow they look just fine.

"No," he answers after a moment, checking the calendar above his desk.

"What,  _why?_ " Mimi whines.

"I'm going out with Miyako."

What truly stuns her is how he doesn't even look up from his boring book to say it. The guilt that has somehow eluded her comes flooding in, all at once and just for one moment. Mimi raises an eyebrow and tries, rather successfully, not to appear interested. Ken doesn't really understand so he shrugs, sure there's something he's missing but when Mimi's hands touch his hair, he has already forgotten all about it.

His hair spills gracefully between her fingers, soft and liquid, like ink. She runs them down his scalp, tugging softly and then, on a whim, ties his hair up in a casual, too-styled-to-be-accidental way, leaving Ken's neck exposed. Mimi bends down and presses one lonely kiss to the hollow of his throat. Unseen by her, Ken smiles with his eyes glued to his notes.

"We'll miss you two, then."

"I think she really likes me," he says, casually. "From what I heard, Daisuke has been teasing her for years."

Her teeth pull at the thin skin of his neck and as he gasps, she giggles. Mimi turns away from him and he wonders if she does it on purpose, so he'll ask.

"Did you know?"

She considers lying but her nature gets the best of her so she shrugs, like it's no big deal. She knows,  _obviously,_  Miyako doesn't shut up about him. Even when she's seeing other people and more so when she suspects  _he's_  seeing someone else, a fact that used to cause Mimi no end of amusement until her questions started hitting too close for comfort. Mimi doesn't like being made to feel guilty and she certainly doesn't appreciate thinking she's in the wrong, which is primarily why no-one knows she's here now.

"Of course I knew."

"Mimi?"

"Hmm?"

"Is she in love with me?"

To that, she has no answer. So she yawns, curls her hair around her fingers and waits for him to finish what he's doing. But Ken is no longer interested in his notes though he pretends to be going over them thoroughly. He's thinking about the vanilla scent of Mimi's hair and how it always clings to his clothes, and how much he'll miss it when she's gone. He's always known she'll leave but it never seemed more real than this, right here, right now.

"Is Yamato in love with you?"

Out of the corner of his eye he watches her look up from the bed.

"What makes you say that?" Her expression shifts and she snickers. "Are you jealous, Ken-kun?"

Ken shrugs. He really doesn't care but it seems to him as though there's something there, between them. So far, neither of them has actively denied it and he considers that maybe they really  _don't_ know, after all.

"You haven't slept with him," he says, looking at her face to gauge a reaction. Mimi's smile fades and her eyes slide sideways, uncomfortable or unsure. It's a rare look on her and for a brief moment Ken is sorry he's being so crass.

"Once," she says, her fingers tugging on the hem of his sweater. "It was a long time ago."

She doesn't tell him the details and he doesn't ask. The what-ifs and maybes are a little blurry after all this time but the regret lingers, strong. Mimi would never forget the way Yamato looked at her that night, like she was everything he had ever wanted and couldn't have. She imagines she must've looked at him the same way but has never brought herself to ask and Yamato never brought it up, even after she came back.

When she looks back at Ken she's beaming again and it rattles him how easily she can do that.

"What?"

"Nothing," Ken says, knowing when to back down. "You look very pretty, that's all."


	5. The Witching Hour

[12/16/16]

* * *

It's late and cold when she rings his doorbell. Her hands are deep in her pockets again quick, trying to find warmth in a spring that refuses to come. It doesn't register though, how late it really is, until he opens the door with half a shirt on and hair all tousled and messy.

"Hey," she says, voice cheery despite the hour. "You're a mess."

It takes him but a second to look her over, obviously disapproving. If it were any other day she'd fight him but tonight there's no fight left in her and she can only hope he doesn't see this; and she can only hope he does.

"Get in,"he orders, smoothing his shirt down and scowling. "It's bloody cold."

Mimi slips in without thanking him, basking in the glorious warmth of his apartment as she carelessly removes her snow-ridden shoes and coat. There's an apology stuck in her throat, something akin to bile that she can only barely deign to swallow.

"Did you walk here?"

"I couldn't sleep," she says, busy with the buttons on her sweater. "Do you have any tea? It's freezing out there."

He's in the kitchen already, kettle set on the stove. Two mugs are waiting neatly on the kitchen aisle and she has to stop herself from tearing up, so she sinks into his couch, hugging herself when he doesn't.

"Why did you walk here?"

"I wanted to see you!"

"It's past midnight, Mimi."

Then, quieter, "I wanted to see you."

He likes to think she's easy to read and is genuinely baffled when it's apparent, in moments like these, that she isn't always. Seeing her look so out of sorts and uneasy makes him nervous, so he busies himself fixing her a cup of tea, glancing at her every now and then. He sets the mug before her and she murmurs a quiet _'thanks'_ , to which he only nods.

"Do you ever think about us?" she asks, not waiting for an answer. Yamato's eyes narrow slightly. "I do. I was thinking about you, how I'm completely in love with you despite, you know,  _everything_."

She looks up, expectant, but he is only staring at her, stunned.

"Don't look so surprised," Mimi chides him, irritated. "I know you're in love with me, too."

This time he looks flustered but also a little angry, and also a little sad. She knows what she's doing, probably knew he'd react this way but like so many things before, she just can't help herself when it comes to him.

_You're so selfish, Mimi-san._

"Mimi, stop."

"I didn't come here for a confession, Yamato," she murmurs. "I just ... needed to see you."

He's moved or maybe she's moved towards him (she doesn't know), but he's holding her now, firmly, by the shoulders. The most striking thing about Yamato isn't the fact that he's ridiculously good-looking but rather that when he looks at her like this, it's all Mimi needs to be anchored back down. He doesn't kiss her, though she is yearning for it and he knows. Instead, his hands slip down her shoulders and she shivers when they return to his lap and he gives her a long, hard look.

"What you need is sleep," he says after a moment. "You'll feel better in the morning."

She closes the distance between them, leaning her head against his shoulder. He's stiff and unresponsive, probably still angry, but she doesn't care about that tonight.

"So silly," she murmurs, weight shifting on the low couch. "To think I don't need you."

.

.

She wants to give this — them, a serious chance, so she insists they do everything on the list. Ken wants to tell her it's too cold and bleak outside for a walk down the park but Miyako is stubborn and he's not sure he knows how to say no, anyway. So they drink hot cocoa out of peppermint-coated little mugs before visiting the rocky beach near Rainbow Bridge. It's cold and lonely, Ken thinks, lifting the collar of his peacoat, hands later buried deep in his pockets.

He watches Miyako skip ahead of him down the wet, cold stairs and out towards the rocks.

"Be careful," he gasps, watching her foot slip. She catches herself at the last moment, holding on to the cold metal rail.

"Yeah!" she calls out over her shoulder. "It's kind of wet."

He watches her choose a few small-sized pebbles, weighing them between her fingers. One by one, she tosses them out onto the water, celebrating occasionally. He can't tell when they're marks or losses, so he doesn't join in. Instead, he smiles when she looks back, laughing. Her hair is all over her face and it is entirely ungraceful, unrehearsed, decidedly human. He carefully tucks her hair behind her ears, pulling her hat down to cover them. Miyako laughs and he wonders why he doesn't kiss her.

Across from him, heart crushed between wet pebbles, she wonders the same thing.


	6. Bittersweet

[12/21/16]

* * *

In the heat of the night his heart is thumping viciously against his chest, a rabid thing seeking escape. With the curtains open, the moonlight seeps seamlessly into the room, painting everything a shade of gray. Nimble fingers close around thin wrists and her lips part, swallowing him whole as he slams into her. She pushes his hair back with her one free hand, then yanks his head back in a muted scream.

She's demanding even in bed and he is reminded of that when her legs wrap around his waist and pull him to her. This is different from last time and the time before. There's still a sense of urgency, the rush of doing something not-quite-right, but he is taking his sweet time with her and she is being unusually compliant. He's managed to suppress a blush as he kneels above her, watching her body delicately splayed for him. Her nudity is no longer surprising but it is no less intimidating, even now. Kneeling closer, he kisses her just below the knee, earning a quiet giggle.

"What are you doing?"

It's a stupid question, so he doesn't answer. Instead, he kisses her over and over again until he reaches the creaminess of her thighs. Here he pauses, looking up at her as she watches him, suddenly mute. His lips part and suddenly his teeth nip painfully at the skin of her inner thigh, making her legs quiver and the most delicious gasp escape her. His tongue laves quickly at the wound only to bite again, harder, the closer he gets to the apex between her legs. As the red marks bloom upon her skin, Ken feels himself stirring and it is frightening, how exhilarating it is to watch her thus.

"Don't move," he whispers, so she stops.

Later, he lays in an unmade bed already empty. Fucking her is such a lonely affair.

.

.

"So, you're breaking up with him?"

Sora looks up, recipe book momentarily forgotten.

"Who's breaking up with whom?"

"Mimi," Miyako says, sipping on a glass of white wine. "She's breaking up with her mystery man."

"I'm not seeing anyone," Mimi says, frowning. Then, catching Sora's stern gaze, "I'm not!"

"Does Yamato know?" Sora asks calmly, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. Mimi throws her a look of pure loathing but she pays little heed to it.

" _Does Ya—_ I'm  _not_  seeing anyone."

"He doesn't," Hikari pipes in, placing a couple of grocery bags on the kitchen island. "Sorry I took so long, I couldn't find the okra you wanted, Sora."

"How come?"

"Well, it's not really  _in season_ , so I had to run to the big market instead—,"

Shaking her head while Miyako guffaws, Sora starts unpacking the items, looking over at them. Sometimes, she thinks, there's just too much  _Yagami_  in her.

"I meant Yamato," she clarifies, eyebrows raised. "How'd you know?"

"Why do you keep talking like I'm not in the room?" Mimi complains, face red.

Hikari looks almost sorry, biting into a  _vol-au-vent_  to keep herself busy. Mimi glares but Sora's attention is back on the food she's preparing and the dinner that should've been ready fifteen minutes ago.

"Wow," she says between bites, "These are great, Mimi!"

Unimpressed, Miyako raises one suspicious eyebrow. "You asked 'Keru?"

Caught, Hikari's shoulders rise and fall dejectedly. "Yeah, I asked Takeru."

"Speaking  _of_..."

They take the conversation, wine and snacks to Sora's living room, too caught up in gossip and hunger to care much about helping out with dinner. Still somewhat miffed, Mimi pours herself a second glass as she finishes the salad she has been so disrespectfully entrusted with. The invitation to dinner rattled her, despite her insistence that she has nothing to hide and that these, her best friends, will understand her (sometimes, facing Miyako is a real struggle).

"Hey, Mimi?"

"Mh-hm?"

"I know it's not my business but..." Mimi tenses at her words, looking up at Sora. She's touching one hand to her chin, contemplatively, and Mimi feels like she's in grade school again, about to be scolded. "This guy you're seeing..."

"I'm not seeing anyone, Sora."

"Anymore?"

_"At all."_

"What about Yamato, then?"

_You're so selfish, Mimi-san._

"What about him?"

Sora isn't amused at the defiance in her tone and she's no longer apologetic. Her gaze is stern and the way her smile disappears makes it difficult for Mimi to keep looking her in the face. They've almost had this conversation countless times before and they always end up the same way. She doesn't think tonight will be any different but then, she's had such rotten luck lately...

"You can't keep stringing him along like this. You know that."

"Excuse me?" Mimi feels suddenly very hot and then very cold, and she's looking at Sora as though she's been slapped. She feels irrationally angry, and sad, and hurt, so all she does is finish her wine and in those few seconds, it takes all of her not to start crying. When she's finished she coughs and then, she laughs.

"You know what's really funny?" she asks Sora, not expecting an answer. "I don't know why you think it's  _me_ , stringing him along."

The wine is sweet but it cannot wash the taste of all the lies coating that lone, bitter truth.


	7. Raincheck

[12/26/16]

* * *

There is nothing sweet, she thinks, about the way he looks at her. There is affection there, somewhere beneath darker, uglier things. They are friends first and foremost and the way she felt about him then is the same she feels for him now; she just has to dig a little deeper, lately. Mimi combs her hair carefully, mechanically, she already knows the drill. She frowns at her own reflection, arching her neck with eyes burning into each and every one of the marks conspicuously hidden on her shoulders and chest. There are more down her ribs, on her hips — she's bruising everywhere, like an overripe peach.

The sweet soreness of her thighs makes her blush prettily, a sight that makes her look away all the quicker. Her phone has been buzzing a few times and she picks it up, lazily scrolling past her notifications with little interest.

**[7:11 p.m.]一乗寺 賢: Are you home?**

**[10:15 p.m.]石田 ヤマト: I forgot to pick up what you asked for. Raincheck?**

**[10:16 p.m.]一乗寺 賢: There's something I want to run by you.**

**[10:21 p.m.]一乗寺 賢: I'm coming over.**

Mimi frowns, looking at the time on her phone and sure enough, the screen lights up and his name flashes up in big, bold letters. She picks up on the second ring.

"Yes?"

_"Mimi-san, hello. Are you home? I sent you a couple of messages."_

"I just saw them. Are you nearby?"

_"About five minutes away."_

"I'm about to head out," she lies, walking towards the living room. "Door's unlocked, so just come in!"

She hangs up and in three minutes, she's out of her sleeping clothes and into comfortable, casual clothes. She picks out the first coat on her rack, a scarf, a wool hat and a loose cotton dress shirt that covers her arms and has a low plunge-line.

"Mimi-san?"

_"Bedroom!"_

Ken's soft knock finds her rummaging in a drawer and she looks up, greeting him with a smile she's been rehearsing long enough it's almost too real.

"Hi there!"

"I'm sorry," Ken says, frowning. "I was already here when you finally picked up."

"Don't worry," Mimi tells him, swooping in for a quick peck on the cheek. "It was kind of last minute, to be honest. Is everything alright?"

Ken hesitates, unsure of what he wants to say. He's caught in a strange place as he realises this is the first time he's been to her bedroom, at this hour, alone, despite how many times she's been to his. Mimi's face is clean and fresh, so she looks younger even and Ken finds suddenly, that he wants to kiss her. She melts into the kiss naturally, blinking lazily when they separate.

"Ken-kun?" she asks, dazed. "Are you okay?"

His eyes are caught in the blue marks on her throat and those peeking out of her shirt. In his mind's eye he can map them out perfectly and he knows with a devastating certainty that he could trace them all right now, if he dared touch her. He's sorry to think they'll fade away in a few days and then is sorry for thinking of anything more permanent. Ken runs his fingers back through his hair and then down his tired, haggard face.

"I keep thinking about you," the words tumble out of him gracelessly, without real passion behind them. "Whenever I'm with her, I wonder what you're doing."

_You, you, you._

"Why?"

_Because I know her and I don't know you, even though it's you I'm fucking._

"Because with you, I never know where we stand."

This is the first time he's acknowledged this to himself and he's not sorry for his own inelegant choice of words. He likes to think he has no delusions or expectations about this affair, but the questions keep piling up whenever she leaves and Ken isn't sure it's worth shouldering them anymore. She's looking up at him, eyes big and wet and when she looks like that Ken almost wants to tell her he's sorry and he loves her, even though he isn't and he doesn't. Already, he can feel his resolve crumbling.  _We?_

Mimi's smile is short, but sweet. "That's kind of a deep question, isn't it?"

"You don't have to answer right now."

She's folding and unfolding her scarf between her fingers, glancing up at him as though the outcome depends on him. Ken looks at her levelly from his position against the door frame, neither here nor there, waiting.

"Do you think I'm selfish, Ken-kun?"

It takes him a while to answer but he is very sure of it when he does. Everything, except for that first time, points towards it.

"You are," he admits, voice low. "But so am I. It's why we're here, isn't it?"

Finally, she stands and shrugs into her coat, still holding the scarf in her hands. He can't help the tiny amount of terror that engulfs him, realising what this is.

"You can't stay?" he asks pathetically, holding on despite the fact that he's already following her outside.

"It's kind of an emergency," she says, looking over her shoulder. "If I don't go..."

"Of course," he says. "I understand."

They go down the elevator together in silence. Mimi rests her head against his shoulder and hums a tune he doesn't know, fingers quick on her phone while Ken looks straight ahead and tries not to feel as though the night has been a waste of effort.

"Can I walk you somewhere?" he asks as they reach the front of her apartment building. "It's already late."

Mimi turns her face away, not knowing where she intended to go despite the certainty of where she'll end up. She's a coward and she knows it; Ken probably realises it, too, because he lets out a small, shaky laugh that pierces Mimi's chest.

"Right," he says. "Good-night, Mimi-san."

Maybe it's the formality that rubs her the wrong way, so her fingers clasp his wrist when he's turned his back on her, already leaving.

"Can we talk about this tomorrow? Ken?"

There is no immediate answer but he delicately extricates himself from her hold, letting her hand fall limply to her side.

"Ken?"

"If you wish," then he adds, petulantly, "I'm done."

Unable to face the triumph in this terrible absence, Mimi turns the opposite way and begins to walk.

.

.

**[6:05 p.m.]太刀川 ミミ: Be there in 15 minutes.**

The anger has receded and he sits a little confused, but mostly ashamed of his behaviour. In the fortnight his list of regrets has increased tenfold and it is all he can do to avoid hiding his face in a pillow. When she arrives, hair windswept and cheeks flushed pink, he has already forgotten half of them. By the time her lips crash against his and her arms go around his neck, Ken no longer cares why she came at all.

They don't make it to the bedroom, the first time. Ken groans as his back hits the couch and she sighs as he pulls her dress off, clutching his cheeks when she kisses him. He peppers her skin with harsh kisses and the blues, greens and blacks are met with reds and pinks that he revels in as they blossom around the expanse of her body. There is nothing sweet about the way he cradles her neck, nothing delicate about how she pulls at his bottom lip but he is demanding and pleading; both cruel and desperate as she fucks him. He catches his reflection on the mirror behind her and now he can't look away as she sheathes him in, mumuring in his ear.

He doesn't think he can watch himself fuck her again, so after he comes, he carries her out of the living room, stumbling against the furniture until they get to the bed, where she lies rubbing her thighs together and breathing heavy, looking hungry and forlorn. Ken takes little time getting a fresh rubber; he only knows how to ease one of those.

He was shy, the first couple of times but has since grown bolder and crueler. As they lay together, Ken slowly traces one pale breast, the backs of his fingers brushing against a pert nipple before he pinches, hard. Mimi gasps so he kisses it and then, in a moment of weakness, licks her slowly. Mimi watches him with half-lidded eyes, quiet.

"I cant' play this game anymore," he tells her, though there is little conviction behind it.

"Who says we're playing any game?"

Ken glares resentfully at her.

"You do, Mimi."

"And if I am," she sighs, kissing the hollow of his throat. "Why can't you just play along?"

Blue eyes flying open, Ken is at a momentary loss for words and it shores him, because he never expected to feel this kind of loss.

"Because I can't win," he finally admits. "You don't play fair, Mimi-san."

He expects her to be amused and she is, for a moment, laughing low.

"Are you going to tell her?"

Ken tenses even as she draws closer, resting her cheek on his chest. So casually, she asks things of him while they lie naked and he wants to run away from her but he also wants to fuck her again, so he doesn't move. He wonders if this is what Yamato meant when he said, ' _don't get caught in her games',_  if this is what she did to him, too.

"I don't know," he finally says. "She and I ... I haven't slept with her, even."

"Will you?" Mimi asks, in that same voice. "Sleep with her, I mean."

"I don't think so."

"Okay."

"Does that please you?"

"A little," she admits. "It shouldn't, I know. But I can't help feeling jealous."

He's staring at her now, a mixture of surprise and indignation on his face. Mimi blinks, looking tired but unwavering in her admission and this does nothing to improve his mood.

"You're jealous? Of  _Miyako_ ," he asks, voice low. "You are unbelievably selfish, you know that?"

She turns lazily to him, looking almost bored.

"Isn't that why we're here, now?"

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**  Because I'm such a whimsical writer, I work and edit on the go in this little infernal device that is the FF editor, so yesterday, I lost this chapter no less than  _two_  times and when I finally got it back, I lost it again  _today_  by editing on my mobile app. That's at least 1400 words lost every single time, so it turned out considerably different than what was originally intended.

 **Key:**  I just thought it looked prettier, to be honest.

一乗寺 賢: Ichijyouji Ken  
石田 ヤマト: Ishida Yamato  
太刀川 ミミ: Tachikawa Mimi


	8. Interludes

[01/01/17]

* * *

When Sora tells him, "Mimi thinks you're avoiding her", Yamato thinks it's all his fault because he should've seen it coming. After all, Sora hasn't needed a ride home since college, so as calmly as he can manage he switches to the slow lane, just to be safe. He already expects this to be a long ride.

"So," she prods, carefully. "Are you?"

"You know, I thought we were over these little interventions," he tells her, just a little irritated. "We're not in grade school anymore, Sora."

"And that means I can't worry about you?" she asks, equally miffed. "I thought we were friends."

"We are," Yamato says, looking at her through the mirror. "But you can't pull out the friendship card like this, it's not how it works. You of all people know that."

The teasing tone is gone and Sora sobers up, smile faltering. She must've had the best intentions, only looking out for her friends. It's something they all love about her but it's also one of the things that irritates him the most because he expects her of all people, to understand. He remembers far too many times when she knew just what he needed, gave him what he wanted, understood him better than he did himself. These moments solidified their friendship and however grateful, Yamato is loath to bring them up.

"You're right," she says, hands folded neatly on her lap. "I'm sorry. I'm just worried ... you've always been a little difficult, you know."

"I'm not trying to be."

"I know that," Sora assures him. "And Mimi knows that. It doesn't make you any less difficult, though."

He doesn't have an answer for her so he presses his lips together, glancing at his back mirror before his attention is once more divided between the road and his passenger. She's not trying to tease him, he knows, but it doesn't make her words any easier to hear.

"Did she ask you...?"

"She didn't ask me anything," she assures him. "You know she wouldn't."

Yamato takes advantage of a red light to look at her, nodding. He doesn't tell her that with Mimi, he no longer knows what she would or wouldn't do.

"Then?"

"You're in love with her."

His lip curls disdainfully. "This has nothing to do with that."

"Why  _are_  you being so cynical, Yamato?"

He thinks about the way she looked that night, sitting prettily on his couch and telling him,  _I'm not here for a confession, Yamato_ , like he was about to give her one. It angers him because of all the moments she has stolen from him, that one hurts the most. He thinks about Mimi even when he doesn't want to think about her, finding that she has crept silently behind his eyelids and suddenly he's remembering that one damning night and her sparkling eyes and that sweet, cruel mouth. The ache is old, more like the ghost sting on a scar that hasn't completely faded away.

His silent confession and her subsequent rejection have stayed for a long time and he wonders why he can't let that go. Then he wonders how anyone  _can_ , how does one move forward without looking back at the things they have destroyed. In the end, there is only her, but Yamato doesn't know if he'll ever trust himself to go through with it. He doesn't even trust her either, so he wonders how come he loves her so. Love, he thinks, changes nothing.

_So silly, to think I don't need you._

He slows down the car in front of her building, refusing to kill the engine and park. Understanding, Sora thanks him for the ride and politely climbs out of his car, lingering just a moment on the window.

"I'm really sorry, Yama—,"

"I can never be sure, with her," he tells her, fingers tight on the steering wheel. "Whether she's playing, or not. I don't think she knows, either."

Sora grimaces, already regretting asking. Yamato smiles in a way that isn't entirely reassuring but is entirely  _Yamato_ , and she lets go of the door. He drives away, fingers fidgeting for his phone until he dials the number without seeing, the digits imprinted permanently into his mind like every other thing about her.

.

.

Because she is above all things a dreamer, Miyako often hangs out at his apartment and ponders about the ineffable things in life. Of all her idiosyncrasies, this is Ken's personal favourite.

"Have you ever fallen in love with someone impossible, Ken-kun?"

Her philosophical, deeply personal and invasive questions no longer catch him off-guard, so Ken takes a deep breath and really attempts to consider an answer. She likes him because he takes her seriously despite the many reasons she has given him not to, amongst other things. He considers the playful tone of her question and the implications of an honest answer, so he takes the vague approach that always works with Miyako-chan.

"I had a crush on Mimi-san."

Miyako's shriek turns into a high-piched giggle.

"Why are you so amused?" Ken laugh is dry, disbelieving. "Is it so unexpected?"

"Not at all!" Miyako says, shaking her head. "Doesn't everyone? I mean, even Yamato-san..."

Interest piked, Ken doesn't look at her as he asks, "What about, Yamato-san?"

"What's this? Ichijouji Ken, interested in schoolgirl gossip?"

Ken rolls his eyes and she laughs again, delighted.

"It's no big secret, they've had the hots for each other for  _ages_."

He tries to imagine a younger Yamato pining for Mimi in the way he has felt himself pine more than once. It doesn't add up and he isn't sure if it's because he doesn't know the entire story or because he still looks up to Yamato-san too much. He's jealous (there's no point denying it to himself though he'll be caught dead before admitting as much to  _her_ ), but mostly, he feels sorry for Yamato and wonders why he can't feel the same way about Mimi. Then he looks at Miyako and wonders why he can't feel that way about her, either.

As if she senses his eyes on her, Miyako shifts, resting her cheek on her arm and looks up at him. She is biting her lower lip thoughtfully, perhaps contemplatively and Ken can almost pinpoint the exact moment she decides to kiss him. He doesn't close his eyes until the last moment, when she stops being timid and finally asks: "Why Mimi?"

Ken smirks into her kiss, pulling her closer by the nape of her neck and murmurs into her mouth: "Why not her?"

There is something lovely and lonely about kissing Miyako like this, while they're both thinking about Mimi-san. For Ken, it is the sweetness of her mouth and her touch that sets him on fire. For Miyako it is a dream long-forgotten, a sort of giddiness and thrill in sharing this, with him. She deepens the kiss, parting her lips for him as she moves closer, holding him so tight.

"Would you kiss her, if you had the chance?" she asks, longing so fresh behind her spectacles. He wants to spit out  _no,_ and wants to shake her, ask her  _why_  she demands this from him,  _why_  does it matter,  _why why why, Miyako-chan?_

"I would," Ken tells her, smiling softly at her in a way that breaks her heart. "Just like this."


	9. Old Fashioned

[01/14/17]

* * *

She curls one lock of hair loosely between her fingers, then releases it just to watch it bounce back. She repeats this a few times, then hesitantly tries with a lock of her own. The effect isn't the same, her long hair hangs limp and straight. Sighing, Miyako returns to the bed, throwing herself on her stomach and watches lazily as Mimi curls her lashes, unperturbed by her attention. She holds her phone away from her, taking a picture of herself with Mimi in the background.  _Perfection takes time_ , she captions it, then hits the  _'story'_  button.

"Why aren't you coming with me, again?"

Miyako shifts on the bed, lying on her side now, still occupied with her phone.

"We're having dinner with Daisuke and Catherine. Ken's picking us up after. Hey, did I tell you?" She sits up, hugging one of Mimi's pink pillows. "I think we're sort of dating now."

"What?" Her hand jerks involuntarily and she misses her lashes by a few millimeters.  _"Shoot,"_  Mimi hisses, closing her eye and leaving her mascara on the vanity table as she stands and reaches for a soft tissue, quickly dabbing at the corner of her tearduct. Lips pressed tight, she needs to remind herself not to frown.

"Ohh, what happened?"

"Nothing, I ruined my eye."

"D'you need help?"

"No-uh," Mimi says, panicked at the idea of having her up close. She cleans up the slight mess and starts over. "I'm sorry, you were saying? Ichijouji-kun?"

She can hear Miyako speaking but the words are sort of mumbled, very shrill and excited so she only smiles and focuses on fixing her little mishap. When she turns, her right eye is still slightly red but her eyeliner is perfectly symmetrical and her lashes are curled to their best.

Miyako gives her a toothy grin and two thumbs up. "So?" she asks, excitedly. "What do you think?"

She's tempted to ask  _about what_ , then immediately regrets it — she can't stomach being mean to her, whatever the reason.

"I can't believe you waited until  _now_  to tell me!" she exclaims, crossing her arms over her chest, lips curled in a pout.

"I just didn't want to jinx it!" Miyako wails, rolling around on the bed. She stops, peers over the pillow at a still-pouting Mimi and smiles sheepishly. "I was dying to tell you though. He's been really great, so I'm a bit optimistic."

Her expression melts into a grin and she claps her hands together in enthusiasm.

"Then, I'm happy for you."

Miyako buries her face in the pillow, red and giddy and Mimi is grateful she's so far away that she can't hear her heart beat erratically against her chest. She stands, clears her table from all her cosmetics while her friend keeps jabbering away about going to lunch, the beach, that old bookstore she really liked. Mimi tries vaguely to keep up but she's talking too fast, too serious,  _too much_.

"Ah, puppy love," she sighs, just a tiny curl to her lips, desperate for a break.

"Love?" She makes a face, then shakes her head exaggeratedly. "No way. It's too soon for that."

"What do you mean? I thought you were  _crazy_  about him."

"I am, I mean, have you  _seen_ him? He's  _gorgeous_." She falls back into bed, taking off her spectacles and closing her eyes for a moment. "What  _can_  you do, with people like that? It's not fair."

Mimi's fingers search through her jewellery box, holding still as they find the amethyst earrings she hasn't worn in weeks. She carefully clasps them on her ears, admiring the violent colour against her pale skin, smiling weakly.

"Mm. I guess not."

.

.

It's early still so instead of going directly to the venue, she calls him up under the pretense of having a drink before the show starts. It's close to his home so he doesn't refuse and arrives within ten minutes, wrapped in a camel-brown coat and gray scarf. Mimi raises a delicate hand from her corner table, holding a golden-caramel drink on the other. Ken orders a bottle of sparkling water, shaking his head at the drinks chart.

"I'm driving tonight," he explains, though she already knows. Mimi only nods, then sips. His eyes linger on the curve of her mouth and then latch hungrily onto the amethysts on her ears; they narrow slightly, caught off guard.

"I'm meeting Kou in a bit. He used to direct the lighting, though they have a team for that now."

The conversation is hollow, strained. She swirls the golden liquid in her glass, smiling over its heady aroma, right at him. She wonders if he has missed her at all, these days, but is too afraid to ask. She thought of calling him sometime the past week but the ache was temporary, easy to put aside and only came back swinging that afternoon, with Miyako in her bedroom. The memory makes her tongue dry and he's not speaking, so she drinks again.

"You said you wouldn't sleep with her," Mimi finally says, resting her cheek on her palm.

Ken is quiet, unforgiving. "I haven't."

"But you will."

"I changed my mind," and he shrugs, so nonchalantly that Mimi is for a moment, enchanted. He is so pretty with his deep, bright eyes and hair so black it's almost blue. She is grinning at him, a lock of hair wrapped around one finger; Ken wrapped around the other.

"Ohh. So  _petty_."

He scoffs, bruised. "You would think so."

"Ken-kun, don't be such a square," she shrugs. "I'm only teasing you."

"I'd rather you wouldn't," he sighs. "Is that why you asked me to come?"

Her smile falters as she realises this time might not be like the others and there's little she can do to help it. She's always afraid of this part, because this is where she imagines they leave. She wants a better ending but she also doesn't know how to stop, so when she speaks it's out of anger and hurt.

"We both know you won't. So what are you trying to prove?"

"How can you be so sure of that?"

She stands behind him, places her hands on either side of him and hugs him, pressing her cheek against his jaw. Her lips brush against it and stop shy of his ear, so she tucks a lock of hair behind it. It's exhilarating, having him so close.

"You care too much about Miyako."

There is a moment, before he separates, where he catches her wrist and holds it fast against him. His face turns, half-obscured by a curtain of his long hair and when he speaks he does so directly against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine.

"I don't know what to make of that, Mimi-san. Does it mean you don't care about Yamato at all?"

His words are cruel, unnecessarily so and Mimi stands elegantly, hand curled into a fist. He releases her but it feels like a warning, some sort of threat lingering in the ghost of his fingers around her wrist. She wants to kiss him or wrap her fingers around his throat.

"You wouldn't understand."

He sighs, looking bored. "No, I don't suppose I would."

"Ken—,"

"I should go now," he tells her, standing. "If we're going to make it back in time for the show."

He does leave and Mimi doesn't stop him. She waits until it's time to meet up with Koushiro and puts this, him, behind her, smiles bright like the stones on her earrings. The venue is rather spacious and there is an electric sort of energy rumbling in the audience, the music loud and temperatures flaring high as people dance and sing along to the band. They've garnered a loyal following since their middle school days and their shows now are bigger, brighter, better.

He looks so at ease onstage, his body moves fluidly and his fingers are swift, talented on his instrument. He smiles, too, when he sings, and it often makes Mimi's heart feels as if it's just about to burst inside her chest. She hides this under exaggerated screams, jumping up and down with Hikari, Miyako and Sora, dancing with Daisuke and Taichi.

Sometimes she's lovestruck and waits until he comes back down to them, tucking herself under his arms. Sometimes she meets other boys and leaves with them, and she doesn't have to look back because he's already gone, too. Tonight she is alone and it feels like maybe he's watching her, and maybe she's tired of leaving him high and dry. Miyako is bouncing two rows down, hand clasped tightly in Ken's. As if he senses she's looking, his hand releases her and he pulls her closer, one arm draped lovingly around her shoulders. Miyako's head turns upwards and they meet in a kiss.

Mimi looks away but not quick enough; the wound is already festering.

* * *


	10. Warning Signs

[02/25/17]

* * *

It is late and he lies in bed with eyes wide open, staring into the ceiling. He tells himself it's silly, this pining like an adolescent boy but he can't help the way his body misses her at night. It is the silence and the way his bed is somehow filled with so much space now she's not in it. He has long since stopped being  _morose_  but the feeling right now is too familiar, too warm, to easy to fall back into.

He sits up, runs his fingers back through his hair and takes a deep breath as he reaches for his mobile phone. The most recent picture on her feed is of her leaning into bright green metal rails, on the edge of the coast. Her hair billows in the wind, face half obscured by a large sunhat. She's smiling, pointing into the distance. He digs a couple of weeks in before he finds the one that features a surprised Yamato as Mimi kisses his cheek. He's holding a cold bottle in his hand and her eyes are closed. Hikari-chan took that one, he remembers.

To him, she is already more beautiful than any other girl he's ever met. He has dreamt of her milky skin and soft, fragrant bosom and warm, sweet cunt. He thinks what a pretty picture she makes, splayed on his bed, wet and wanting him, but he also thinks there is something ugly about the way he wants her and knows there's something grim about the way she uses him. These are the things that make him recoil from her after the sex, when he's gone soft and cold, and these are the things that make him cling to her when she's about to go.

Part of him wants nothing to do with this, her and all the things she brings into his bed. The other part of him longs to touch her again, to hold her and maybe find what it is about her that makes him so afraid.

(Tonight, here, there is no rest.)

By early afternoon Ken has already made up his mind. He wants to ask her to come over but the truth is he doesn't know what he'll do if she refuses him. He doesn't think she will, not after the way they left things, but the fact that he can't trust her implicitly gives him pause. Instead, he sends her a quick text.

**[2:35 p.m.]一乗寺 賢: Hello, Mimi-san. I was hoping we could meet for tea today, around five?**

He is a coward, he knows.

**[2:37 p.m.]太刀川 ミミ: Sure, I'll probably be a little late.**

So is she.

.

.

Because he is the way he is, Yamato shows up to her door-step carrying two bags loaded with food, treats and sparkling lemonade; an apology, if there ever was one. With one finger he rings the bell and in those excruciatingly long seconds, already regrets coming. He tries to smile back when her face pops up, tired but pleased.

"Yamato?"

Her smile is quick, hopeful. It makes his heart sink.

"I brought dinner," he says, holding both bags up. Mimi opens the door wide and takes the bags from him while he leaves his shoes at the door. The apartment is quieter and darker than he's used to and Mimi tucks herself once more under her blankets, dragging them into the living room.

"Sora said you were sick."

"Just a little under the weather."

The back of his hand touches her cheek and she flinches slightly, so he pretends not to notice.

"You're a little warm," he tells her, tight-lipped. "Stay here."

Yamato is quick with his hands, fixing them both plates despite the fact that he doesn't have much of an appetite. He sits on the floor, his back against the couch where she's currently lying. Irritatingly slowly, Mimi slides down to the floor to join him at the low coffee table. The spread is light, mostly vegetables and fruit and Mimi's favourite steamed pork buns.

"You're the best," she says, considerably cheery as she picks up her chopsticks. " _Itadakimasu_."

"I told them an open air venue was a bad idea, it snowed just two days ago."

She pauses, chewing slowly and his eyes never leave her but just when he thinks she's going to say something, she pops another bite in her mouth. She's talking about work and her projects and what she's going to do once her cold is over but Yamato can't help but notice that she keeps biting down on her lip like she's afraid she's going to run off her mouth.

(She always does, Mimi is the absolute worst at keeping things to herself.)

They end up finishing their meal and catching a film that had already started, on her living room. Yamato's arms are crossed over his chest and she's putting her hair down and tucking away the rest of the food he brought; as she turns, she holds onto a half-empty bottle of lemonade and this uncharacteristic quiet is killing him.

(It's only a matter of time, he tells himself.)

"You know, I saw you, the other day."

The ache in his gut increases but he doesn't turn around.

"The other day...?"

"At the concert."

"Ahh."

They're quiet again but this time, he knows it's his fault. There's nothing he can say that isn't the wrong thing, so he leans back and takes a slow drink from his bottle. He's thinking about thick, blonde locks and a fruity scent he's already half forgotten, an endless expanse of pale, unblemished skin. But mostly, he's thinking how she ruined this, too.

"I've always known, but this time it really hurt."

His mouth feels dry.

"She doesn't—,"

"They all mean  _something_ ," Mimi interrupts and this time he really has nothing to say. "It's okay. I just wish I didn't have to care so much."

She leans against the wall and when she shrugs there's a helpless smile on her face. He stares at her, blue eyes hard and cruel. She blinks, shrinking into herself as if she knows what he's about to say. Yamato hopes she does.

"When I called you that night, you said—,"

"I know what I said, Yamato."

"No," he says, voice low. "I don't think you do."

She presses her lips together, hurt. He doesn't care. Later he will regret it, can already feel his resolve slipping from his fingers, so he holds on to this sudden anger and hopes this is enough. She's sick and he's tired and this isn't good for either of them.

He can't stand the sight of her, hair tumbling down like liquid gold, cheekbones like papercuts. It's not fair, but then, she never is.

"I'm going to leave," he tells her, in that effective voice that will brook no refusal.

"Yamato," she calls out, her voice a panicked squeak. " _Please_."

He lingers near the door, just enough to take his jacket. Mimi stands behind him, eyes big and wet and pleading, but the moment is already ruined, his anger already spent.

"You didn't want to be with me and then you didn't want me to be with her," his lip curls and then, because there's nothing funny about it, he laughs. "How miserable must I be for you to be happy?"

He shuts the door behind him and is met with a rush of cold night air that burns deep into his lungs. The truth is, he loves her like he's just learning how to breathe.

And it isn't fair.


	11. History

[03/16/17]

* * *

She shows up about fifteen minutes later than what they had agreed and he is stunned by how pretty she looks. Her hair is tied back into a long braid, one lock hanging stubbornly over her left eye. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold and she is smiling. She finds him at the table and hangs her purse on the back of her chair, finally meeting his gaze.

"Sorry I'm late," she says, tucking her braid over her shoulder. "I hope you didn't wait long."

"Not long," he says, as noncommittally as he can. A young waitress approaches with a clear, steaming teapot and bows before leaving it on the table along with two cups and sweet cakes.

Mimi raises an eyebrow. "You ordered."

"I was just a little early," Ken says. The merest hint of a blush on his cheeks is enough to make Mimi warm, so she shakes her head. She isn't allowed to think of him like this anymore.

"Ken..."

"I wanted to apologise."

She is quiet, all of a sudden. Ken pours her a mug and then pours himself one, his hands making quick work of it. Despite this, he doesn't spill a drop.

"You don't have to," she says at the same time he insists, "I do."

"What does it matter?"

This is the moment when he realises the full extent of his relationship with her. He was allowed to touch, but not to mark; to hurt, but not to scar. There is nothing permanent about Mimi, which is why he is so terribly exhausted of keeping his feelings in check when he's around her. He wants to ask her,  _why are you like this?_  and  _who hurt you so?_ , but is afraid of a straight answer. Deep inside, he is afraid he knows.

"It matters," his mouth hangs open. "How can it not?"

"Ken," she tells him and he clings to the way her lips curl around his name. "It was just a game that got out of hand, but now we know better."

Rationally, he wants to tell her she's right. By all means he should and let her bury this and all the ugly things that they have found within each other. Ken wants to do it, but he can't. His hand reaches out for her and there is nothing romantic about it; he is holding her so that she will not leave.

"You keep saying it's a game, but no-one else is playing. You can't win on your own, Mimi."

She shrugs, lips pursed over the plain porcelain mug. He releases her and they drink their tea until he can't taste anything but the sweet cakes and when she says she wants to go for a walk, he doesn't see how he could deny her. So they leave a few notes on the table and Ken shrugs back into his coat, hands deep inside his pockets.

The city is always so busy, so they weave their way through the streets on the commercial district, trying to find some sort of normalcy in this friendship they have neglected. The longing is quiet, but he knows the longer he lingers the deeper the poison seeps.

Then, because he has to ask, has to know—

"Yamato-san ... why isn't he with you if that's who you chose?"

She doesn't stop walking so he doesn't either, but she is quiet for a while and he wonders if this will be like all those times when she refused to answer. With Mimi, it's always either too much or too little and he never knows which one it'll be. When she finally does stop, she balances on the balls of her feet, looking up at him and reaching to brush the hair out of his face. It's a touch too soft, too sweet, already too much for him.

"I was leaving that concert drenched in rain and he lit me up like thunder, right into my bones." Her smile is soft, rueful. "You don't choose a thing like that."

Ken releases a breath he didn't know he was holding and the words tumble out, bitter and true.

"He's a coward."

Mimi shrugs. Her nonchalance wrenches something deep within his gut.

"I don't know. I think I might be, too."

.

.

"Could you stop staring at me?"

Miyako snaps out of her reverie, giving a little embarrassed squeak that quickly turns into a frown. She's not sorry she was staring and only a little sorry she got caught; mostly, she's embarrassed about what she's about to say, despite knowing she will. She doesn't fight it; it's just who she is.

"You are ridiculously good-looking, did you know that?"

Yamato raises an eyebrow but the pink in his cheeks betrays him. Miyako snickers; there's something deeply satisfying about making a man like Yamato blush.

"I ... er," he clears his throat, "thanks."

He is reading something ridiculous, like physics or cosmic science of some sorts. She squints at the hard cover of his book, catches the word  _'supernovae'_  and immediately rolls her eyes. Yamato is both good-looking and incredibly smart and he reminds her just a little of Ken. Just a little though, because that's where the similarities stop. That ... and Mimi.

"Yamato-san?" she asks, making him look up at her again. He's at the table, which is littered with similarly-thick books and stray papers. It's the only time she's seen him messy, he's usually much more put-together. Then again, she isn't usually imposing on his home on a Wednesday evening but Takeru said he and Daisuke would be here and she had thought  _why the hell not?_ Plus, there's the added benefit of him being just  _so_   _handsome_  and Miyako isn't one to deny herself the simpler pleasures in life.

"How come you don't have a girlfriend?"

She can't tell what he's thinking because his face doesn't change much. He looks focused, if a little miffed, and Miyako is almost sorry she asked.

"What kind of question is that?"

"An honest one, I guess."

"I just don't," he says, as nonchalantly as he can. He won't tell her about all the people he's been with because he knows where that will lead, and he can't tell her how disappointing that is.

"But you're so handsome," Miyako whines and Yamato smiles just a little.

"Yeah," he says. "A lot of people seem to think so."

She doesn't know why at first, but his answer makes her a little sad. She imagines, suddenly, how many people don't know how smart or how talented he is, or how he's got a very peculiar, very clever sense of humor. They don't know that he's such a good cook and such a good friend and suddenly, he's so much more and now Miyako  _is_  sorry she asked.

"How come it didn't work out, with Mimi?"

Yamato is quiet for so long, Miyako is afraid she may have crossed a line of some sorts. It's not the same, she realises suddenly, as teasing Mimi about him. This is real and there's nothing funny about the way his smile sort of freezes on his face.

"I'm sorry," she stutters. "I don't—,"

"It's fine," he dog-ears a page, stalling. "I know you all talk about it."

She has the decency to be embarrassed, lowering her head. Yamato looks casual, not at all hurt. He looks like he's thinking hard about her question

"She asked me once, why I never gave her any flowers. She was upset and we didn't speak again for weeks." Sighing, he closes his eyes. "I couldn't just tell her,  _'here, I found some beautiful things and killed them so you could watch them decay'_. I still can't."

"I-I don't think I understand."

His eyes fly open and it's like he's just woken up. The melancholy is replaced by crisp alertness and his lip curls.

"That's fine, neither did she."

But Miyako, heart beating wildly, is implaccable. "What kind of answer is that?"

He pauses, then says, "An honest one."

Yamato opens his book just as the key turns outside his apartment door and Takeru and Daisuke walk in, carrying boxes of pizza and bags full of snacks. There is a protest caught between her teeth that she has to swallow because the room is suddenly filled with the warm smell of comfort food and musky, sharp boys. Her belly rumbles uncomfortably and she hugs a pillow, suddenly feeling so small.

"Sorry for the wait, are you hungry?" Takeru asks, finding napkins while Daisuke serves the food.

Without looking back at Yamato, Miyako nods.

"Starving."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last line Yamato speaks (you know which one) I got from a cartoon in the New Yorker by Dan Piraro and I came across it on a popular social media site. It was there one second and lost the next, but the line stuck. I do not remember the cartoon itself.
> 
> This line was a big part of why the next chapters were so difficult to write. It felt foreign and out of place at times and gave me no end of grief when I tried to incorporate elsewhere. I still haven't decided what's going to happen to it.


	12. Loose Ends

[08/28/17]

* * *

The smell of cooking meat and vegetables fills the air. It's Koushiro's birthday and the girls planned a surprise party for him, which has really turned out to be a surprise barbecue instead. Everyone has pitched in and they're all smiles and boisterous laughter, there's music and enough food and drinks to continue well into the night and it's everything they had hoped it would be.

Ken sits opposite from her, smiles softly as he focuses on not letting the card fall from its precarious spot on his forehead. When he speaks, his lips move in this funny little way, pursed  _just so_  and she wants to kiss him, bad. The urge dies as soon as she catches Miyako staring wistfully from the other side of the party and it is replaced by a wave of something she refuses to recognise as guilt. Across from them, Yamato dedicatedly pores over the grill with Hikari by his side and Mimi decidedly avoids catching his attention.

(She's been avoiding a lot of things, lately.)

It's past ten and the party has been mostly cleared, with only a few guests scattered around conversations and games that are slowly reaching their end. Mimi sits comfortably on the only empty bench and the wine she's been drinking bubbles pleasantly in her stomach. Ken hesitates before approaching her, announcing his presence with a soft, "May I?", to which Mimi responds automatically.

"Yes, of course."

She's a little drunk and a lot more careless when she looks at him, so focused on how pretty and how blue his eyes are. Ken knows this sort of attention has gotten him in trouble with her before, knows how dangerously easy it would be to fall for it again so part of him is afraid but the other is very pleased. He can't help himself around her, after all. Her gaze lingers somewhere beyond him then, on Koushiro and Sora putting the last of the cake away, on Taichi and Wallace fighting over what seems to be the last of the cooked steak, but then her eyes turn to him and that feeling of helplessness comes back unbidden and true.

"Don't take this the wrong way," he hears himself say, "but you look very beautiful. I mean, you  _are_."

He's blushing but Mimi is already laughing, her breath hits him hot and sweet. "Why," she runs thin fingers through her hair, breath caught. "Why would I take that the wrong way?"

He gives her a look and her smile simmers down. She looks away from him then and he almost wishes she hadn't, knowing he'll regret it much later.

"Do you want me to take you home?" The words sound hollow in his ears, fake. Mimi shakes her head and Ken wants to leave, but he doesn't.

"You're too kind, Ken," she finally says. "You came to me and apologised, and took the blame for things that weren't your fault. I mean, you didn't let me take the fall, why would you do that?" Ken remains quiet and Mimi knows he won't give her an answer. It's almost better that he doesn't, frankly, because it's never real until one of them says so. She's learned that the hard way. She moves then, makes off without another word but stops when he speaks again, so quietly she only hears it because she's straining to.

"It wasn't kindness," he turns to look at her, troubled. His eyes are very dark. "It was anything but, Mimi-san."

And she really should've gone then, should've turned around and she should've been more careful, shouldn't have been out here with him, there are so many things Mimi should have done and so many more that she shouldn't have. Instead, she moves towards him with intent and when she kisses the corner of his mouth, she's already on the brink of loss.

"I know."

"I'm sorry," he murmurs as a breeze blows by, chilling her to the bone. It doesn't make it any less true.

"I'm so used to people forgiving me, I don't even know how to apologise anymore. But, I never meant to hurt you."

Even now, it's not a real apology but it surprises him all the same. His hand moves out of its own volition, brushes the hair away from her face and lingers too long on her cheek, a touch too intimate neither should have allowed. He wishes he could lie to her, but the only thing he says is, "I know."

This moment belongs to them both, but that doesn't stop Miyako from staring from across the lawn.

.

.

"Hi Sor—you're not Sora."

Yamato looks up, momentarily abandoning the catalogue he was casually glancing at.

"Miyako. Sharp as always, I can see."

"Where is she? What are you doing here?" she demands, in a tone he finds only mildly rude. Instead of being affronted, he simply points his thumb back over his shoulder at the door behind him.

"Upstairs. She won't be long, if you want to wait."

She seems to consider this for a moment, walking around the shop and paying little attention to the other clients. Sora's family has been in the flower business for ages and Sora herself helps out at the store when she can spare the time; Miyako feels for her; at least she has her sisters and brother to share the added responsibility. She's only here because Hikari isn't available and Sora is the next best person to talk to, considering...

Except  _he's_  here now and Miyako has been known to make poor decisions when backed into a corner. Yamato sits behind the counter, attention once again taken by this catalogue of flower arrangements and that is, perhaps, what prompts her to speak.

"Listen, what you said that day, about the flowers…"

Yamato looks up and around just once, so imperceptibly that Miyako mentally scolds herself and lowers her voice.

_Of course._

"Ah, that's not important."

"Yes it is," she continues, unrelenting. "I think you're making excuses, because you're afraid."

"Excuse me?"

"Of Mimi. I ... think you're afraid of Mimi."

_And now she's done it._

"I'm not going to have this conversation with you."

There is an edge to his voice that she hasn't ever refused, would never dare to, and her jaw tightens as she struggles against the urge to fight back. Keeping quiet doesn't come naturally for her, so he stares her down until the fight in her is dead. Miyako bites on the inside of her cheek but before she knows it, the words have already tumbled out of her.

"I'm not saying you shouldn't be. I'm just saying—sooner or later, one of you is going to move on. And what's going to happen then?" Her eyes turn towards a point over his shoulder and she flushes brightly. "Hi, Sora. Sorry to bother, I'll come back another time." She turns without a second thought, waving half-heartedly with her heart drumming against her chest and doesn't stop walking until she's far away, trembling, too long gone in case he wants to chew her out.

 _He deserves better than this,_  she thinks and suddenly realises,  _they all do._

Still at the flower shop, Yamato is bristling on the edge of his seat.

"See you around, then," Sora says, oblivious to the whole exchange as she watches Miyako disappear in a hurry through the doors. "That was weird."

She places a hand on his shoulder and Yamato, still riled, fights the instinct to shake her off. He twists his neck and her hand moves immediately to rub down his crick, earning a weak smile on his behalf. "You're not asking?"

Sora scrunches up her nose. "We're not that kind of friends."

He laughs, quiet and low. He still has a hard time reconciling with the fact that he can rely on them, too. But the truth is, that's  _exactly_  the kind of friends they are.

"You've seen what we're like, the two of us," he hesitates, then adds, "Together."

"I have," Sora agrees with a hum. Her hands are warm and she slaps his back good-naturedly, bringing him back home. "And you're not quite all there, when you aren't."

She walks around him without waiting for an answer she knows will not come. Instead, she delivers a few simple instructions to the girl she's been training about how to close the shop, then slips her purse over her shoulder and runs a hand through the tips of her hair. Satisfied, she smiles at Yamato, whose eyes linger on the page before closing it with a sigh.

"Now let's go, we don't want to make Taichi wait too long."


	13. Daydreaming

[04/08/18]

* * *

There's dirt on her hands and the front of her overalls, her cheeks are pink and her hair is up in a messy little bun when she slides through the door back into the terrace. There are dirty spades along the floor, bags of soil and fertilizer, sand and other things Miyako doesn't recognise. The terrarium is looking more and more alive and, as all green things do, it thrives in Mimi's presence.

"Sorry about the mess," she chirps cheerfully. "It's getting warmer and I had to check up on these."

The tulip bulbs are sprouting beautifully and according to Mimi, will fully blossom in a few weeks time. The glass beads that form their bedding sparkle in the morning sun, a stunning display even before the flowers are in bloom. They've been dormant for weeks, since before this harsh winter began and it's the first time Miyako has seen them since Sora helped bring them home.

"Without soil?"

"Wet soil will rot bulbs," Mimi explains patiently. "They need a harder, drier bed to grow. Kind of cool, huh?"

"It seems like awfully harsh conditions for a flower to bloom."

"That's true for most flowers, I guess. Tulips are made of sterner stuff though."

Mimi's laughter is light and warm and settles uncomfortably in Miyako's stomach. "Do you want some tea?" she asks and before Mimi can answer, is already on her feet. "I'll go put the kettle on."

"Sure! I'll be there in a minute."

By the time she comes back, Miyako has already placed the kettle in the middle of the table after pouring two steaming mugs. Her hands shake slightly and she flexes her fingers, trying to steady herself. She thinks about what she said to Yamato before and her breath catches when she stares at her so blankly. Her lip twitches and Miyako has the sudden impulse to stop her.

"Did you know Ken had a crush on you?"

The look on Mimi's face is one of genuine surprise. Her eyebrows shoot up and her smile dies before it has a chance to blossom. "What?"

"He did," Miyako presses on, clumsily. "Starry-eyes, butterflies-in-the-stomach, tongue-tied kind of crush."

"That must have been so long ago," Mimi says, pulling her tea closer. The fragrance of peach blossoms and raw honey surrounds them and she sighs, feigning amusement. "Why would he tell you that now?"

"I asked him," Miyako licks her lips. "I asked him if he'd ever fallen in love with someone impossible, and he said you."

Her laughter is delicate, short. The tea is still too hot but she swallows diligently, unwilling to face what will inevitably come out of her mouth next.

"That's sweet," she finally says, folding her hand under her cheek. "Awfully dramatic, too."

"Yeah," Miyako's smile disappears behind her steaming mug, holding tight to the warm china. "He's never been much of an optimist."

"Does that upset you?"

Miyako's eyes linger on the soft tilt of her lip, worried  _just so_. She's so pretty, frighteningly so, and for a moment she wants to scream at how unfair it all seems to be. "It made me laugh, at first," she answers honestly. "I thought it was fitting, somehow. I don't know how I should feel  _now_."

"It was just a crush, Miya-chan."

"Would you be upset, if Sora-san and Yamato-san—,"

"You're being ridiculous now!"

"Just humor me for a bit, okay? I know Sora-san doesn't like Yamato-san."

"No, but—,"

"And you don't like Ken, right?" She's staring at the tea, hands steady while Miyako can't stop shaking. "Mimi?"

Mimi drinks her tea patiently, eyes closed. When she opens them, she only shakes her head and sets the mug down quietly on the low coffee table before them. She lies back on the couch, forearm covering her eyes and most of her face.

"I don't even like myself," she laughs and it's too late for Miyako to take it back. "How could I like Ken?"

.

.

She spots him at the far end of the café, near the window. There's an open book on the table and right besides it, what looks like a moleskin notebook, the sort Takeru likes to gift everyone because he keeps buying too many for himself. From this distance he looks like any other student, focused on finishing some overdue assignment. She knows him better than this though, and when she draws closer, she can see there are bags beneath his eyes and his skin looks very pale.

"You look like you could use a nap."

Ken brings the steaming mug to his lips and shrugs. He is tired, overworked and overstretched and criticism of his appearance is the very least of his problems.

"How many of these have you had?"

"This is my second."

"Cup or pot?" Ken pauses and Hikari clicks her tongue, disapproving, but nods towards the notebook. "Don't answer that. What are you working on?"

"Ah, it's nothing," he says, closing it and sliding it under his book. He yawns. "A dream journal."

"First you sleep," Hikari muses. "Then you move on to the dreaming part, usually."

Ken appears to consider this, then laughs. "You might be right."

"I'm guessing that's not what you wanted to talk about, though."

"No, it's … ah, you should order."

She does, at his insistence, ask for a cup of sweet tea and apple crumble. She takes this momentary lapse in the conversation to really observe him and for a moment, completely tunes out. It is an unfortunate effect of his beauty, though she rarely indulges. Still, there's something warm and sweet about Ken that she especially likes because it's so unlike any other person. He's not aloof, not unreachable. If she stretches her arms, she can brush his fingers and this thought completely fills her head for a while, as he speaks.

"But I don't know how to tell her," he says, and Hikari blinks, quietly gathering herself.

"Tell her—?"

"That I'm not in love with her."

Her hand lingers on the thin metal fork, turning it anxiously. When he asked her to meet him, the day before, she had imagined something entirely different. A happier Ken, perhaps, one too wrapped up in Miyako to put his thoughts in order. This Ken looks haggard and tired, but terribly convinced about what he's saying.

"Are you afraid you'll break her heart?"

His eyebrows rise. "Why? She's not in love with me, either."

"You seem awfully sure about that," she says, lips pursed. "And you've already made a decision."

His gaze softens and he pushes his hair behind his ear, only to have it spill gracefully back over his cheek.

"Yeah," he nods. "I guess I have."

Their hostess, a kind-looking girl with short hair wearing a star-shaped hairclip, stops by to refill his mug and parts with a small smile. Hikari watches him bring it to his lips without pausing to sweeten it and when he catches her eye, Ken offers her his brightest smile.

He doesn't know how to tell her that no amount of coffee can keep him from falling into this absurd dream of being with her.

It still won't stop him from trying.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Imported from my FFN. A valid warning: this is purely experimental and while several chapters are already written (it's a really short story), I'm not sure how it ends. I wrote this exclusively for the fact that there isn't enough KenxMimi in this world.


End file.
